I is Bumble, and I is on a diet – apparently – on account of what my dad Jem calls my considerable plumpity.

Though, of course, I is not fat, I’m fluffy – like what I miaowed before.

Thing is, my dad is a two-legs – which means he is lacking somewhat in the superior species department, unlike what I is. He’s gone and reduced my rations, he says, so I eat less and lose weight. Well, that was his plan.

What my dad does not realise is that when he feeds me and my sister Honey Cat, she does not finish her whole saucer of food – ever! She always leaves half and walks away. She’s picky like that. DIVA ALERT! MOL!

Now, this is where I come in – coz I have already finished my own saucer of food and then I gets to eat half of Honey’s saucerful of food too – so I gets one and a half! My dad is so dim he thinks Honey has eaten all her saucer of food, then always wonders why she is so hungry later in the day – when he gives her biscuits.

See, there is always ways and means…for a feline. Especially with so many dim, doolally two-legs about.

My dad tells me he has lost some weight though – almost half a stone, whatever that means. He says it was because he was ill and not eating for four days (I has never knowed such a sad experience in all my cat days! Imagine – no food for four days!). And now he is better, he has started what he calls his ‘exercise regime’.

What this means is that three times a week he goes to a big puddle of water in a building somewhere, throws himself in and splashes around like what a fish does – YEUK! These two-legs are so doolally (maybe they’re a subspecies of dog?) I mean, what self-respecting cat would EVER – and I mean EVER – do such a silly and pointless thing?

We practises runnings and jumpings and catching mices, of course. That’s hunting practice and very useful, just in case. We’s got to keep the claws sharp and we’s gotta teach the kittens, if any happen to be passing, like. We is cats, after all!

But this is not called ‘an exercise regime’. This is called ‘being a cat’!

My dad Jem keeping on saying that I lies around too much, dozing, sleeping, lying on my back in an armchair. But I always tells him “I’s a cat! That is what we does!” – if I don’t get my sixteen hours’ sleep a day I’s useless – unable to function feline-wise.

Now THAT is my ‘exercise regime’ – sleeping. For which I prepare by eating, and then washing. All purrrfect cat logic – though I don’t expect two-legs to understand.

So anyway, my dad says he has lost some flab (whatever that is) and hopes to lose more by ‘going swimming’ three times a week, as well as reducing what he eats and giving up bread (a disgusting two-legs food only fit for such inferior species).

I shall watch him – closely – and take mental notes. From where I lie on my back on the armchair – which is well comfy, I can tell you.

Now then, methinks it’s time for a snack. If I miaow loudly enough my dad will give me some treats, I know – he says he won’t, but then he always does. I miaows and miaows and miaows again right in his hearhole, y’know, when he’s trying to watch the light-box! And won’t stop till he feeds me.

I watches the light-box too when tweety birds are on – but otherwise, I leave staring at it to doolally two-legs.

I’s also gonna tell my dad that there is no need for me to be on a diet because I’s not fat, I’s just fluffy – which will come out as something like:

MIAOW-WOW-WOW-YOW-WOW-MIAOW-MIIIAAAAOOOWWW!!!!!

Not that my dad ever listens to me…

Right, time for a snack. Gotta keep the energy levels up. I’s still got eight hours of sleep to get in today and I intend to sleep for not a moment less! As is my right, as a member of the most noble and superior feline species.

Oh, I loves being a cat. I really does! I really really loves being a cat!